"With a doctor?"
"I would think so," Longarm said. "The Union Pacific officials might believe that this train just mired down in a snowbank, but they'll know that there will be passengers who are suffering from the cold and possibly even frostbite. I'm sure that they'll bring along at least one doctor."
"When we reach Cheyenne, what will you do?" Martha asked.
Longarm turned to survey the destruction below. How many frozen bodies were buried in those coaches and lying hidden by the white death?
"I'll telegraph Denver and report what happened and my findings. Then I'll go after Eli and his gang."
"By yourself."
"Yes," Longarm said. "But even if I fail, there will be plenty of others hunting that gang. Even Pinkertons. But I mean to find them first and have the pleasure of killing or capturing Eli and his friends. I want them very bad, Martha. And though you might disapprove, I'll smile when they prance like puppets at the end of a hangman's noose."
"I don't disapprove," she said. "In fact, I rather hope you'll send me an invitation to that party."
Longarm had not realized the depth of change that this young woman had undergone in less than twenty-four hours. No longer was she blind to the evil that lurked in men like Eli Wheat. It was, on the one hand, sad to see her lose her innocence. But on the other hand, if Martha Noble hoped to survive as a rare female Wyoming attorney, she was long overdue for a massive dose of frontier reality.
CHAPTER 3
True to Longarm's prediction, a relief and supply train with a massive snowplow mounted to its locomotive's cowcatcher came puffing up from Cheyenne at about nine o'clock. No doubt those arriving had expected to find a train stranded in deep drifts. Whatever their expectations, they could not have anticipated the devastation that lay scattered across the mountainside.
Longarm and Martha, standing side by side and arm in arm, witnessed their shock. Longarm saw the Union Pacific's relief road crew gape at the carnage and then slowly step off the rescue train and plod forward.
"What in God's name happened?" a tall man in a green flannel shirt cried, yanking off his railroad cap and wringing it in his big fists. "Dear Lord, the telegraph lines between Cheyenne and Laramie went down yesterday afternoon. We just figured that maybe this train had returned to Laramie."
"Obviously not," Longarm said as more men came up. "Did you bring a doctor?"
"Why, no!"
"You should have," Longarm said quickly. "We've got some badly injured passengers and more dead ones than I care to think about."
"But what..."
"It was sabotage," Longarm said, flashing his federal badge. "Dynamite. They struck the line during the blizzard and we were all over the mountainside before we knew what hit us. I'm afraid that the death toll is very high."
"What about Art Becker, the locomotive engineer? And Scotty Macintosh, the fireman?"
Longarm pointed toward the overturned locomotive at the bottom of the gulch far below. "They never had a chance."
The man choked with rage and sorrow. "Who did this?"
"We can't say for sure," Longarm hedged. "I haven't had the time to do much investigating. Mostly, we're just trying to keep the worst of the injured alive. Mister, that should also be your most immediate concern."
The tall man visibly reined in his emotions. "You're right! We'll get everyone on board and off to Cheyenne, where there's at least three good doctors."
Longarm and Martha joined the others to help the injured. Men with rifles were posted to watch over the train wreck, and it was decided that a second train would need to be sent up for the bodies.
"We'll be digging them out for a day or two and hunting for others scattered along this mountain," the tall man, whose name was Jim Allen, said. "I've seen a few train wrecks before, but nothing like this."
"Me neither," Longarm said wearily as he helped the last of the survivors on board the relief train.
It was a silent ride down the eastern slopes of the Laramie Mountains into the railhead town of Cheyenne. To their credit, when news of the train disaster spread across the city, hundreds of people rushed forward to offer aid, food, and shelter to the survivors. Newspaper reporters flocked around the injured, bedeviling them with questions that they could not answer.
"Deputy Long!" a newspaper man shouted, running up to join Longarm and Martha. "Were you on that ill-fated train?"
"I was," Longarm said, not wanting to talk to the man as he led Martha away from the train depot and yards.
"Can you explain what happened?" the newsman cried. "Nobody seems sure!"
"I'm not sure either."
"But you do agree that the train was robbed?"
"Yeah," Longarm said. "The train was robbed. The safe was blown from its hinges."
"Then it was probably the same gang that has been doing that for several years now, right?"
"That would be my guess."
The reporter's pencil scratched rapidly across his notebook. "And I understand that you were bringing Eli Wheat back to face the hangman."
Longarm sighed. "It seems that you already know about as much as I can tell you. Will you excuse us now? The lady is very tired."
"Miss Noble," the reporter said, turning to Martha. "I'm glad that you were not counted among the missing or dead."
"Yes, Herb. I'm very, very fortunate. It was a terrible ordeal and without our deputy marshal, I doubt half as many would have survived."
"Is that a fact?"
"No," Longarm said, "it is not. Everyone did all that they could to help those who were unable to help themselves. The survivors were those of us lucky enough not to be killed outright during the wreck."
Pencil scratching furiously, the reporter began to follow Longarm as he led Martha away. "Deputy, if Eli Wheat escaped-"
"I don't know that for certain," Longarm said. "He might be lying on that mountainside or even down in the gulch, covered with rocks, snow, and wreckage."
"But you don't think so, do you?"
It wasn't a question, and Longarm had no compelling reason to answer in any event. However, if Eli could read a newspaper, Longarm wanted the man to know that he was going to be pursued to the very ends of the earth if necessary.
"No," Longarm said, "I don't think Eli is dead. And my hunch is that his escape did have something to do with the choice of this particular train to be dynamited. But since I can't be sure, I'll have to return to the wreck and do a thorough investigation."
"I see," the reporter said, flipping his notebook to a fresh page. "And I suppose that, if Eli is alive, you'll go after him?"
"You can bet your life on it!" Longarm took Martha's arm. "No more questions."
"My father's house is just up this street," Martha said. "He bought it a few years after I was married. When he died, he left it in my name."
"And now you'll live here and start that law practice?"
"That's my plan," Martha said without a great deal of enthusiasm. "I'm sure that my father left me a complete law library down at his offices. I've everything that I need to begin a practice except experience."
"Isn't there some kind of test or formal requirement?"
"There is, and I qualified before my marriage. It was my father's fondest dream that I should join his practice. He never cared that I wasn't a man. He said that I'd make a terrific attorney."
"I'm sure he was right," Longarm said as they approached a very stately two-story frame house. It was a beautiful home, though clearly it needed a little attention.
"Your father must have been very successful to buy such a nice house," Longarm said, lifting the gate and following Martha up to the front porch.
"He was." Martha sighed. "My father was a lawyer for the Union Pacific Railroad. He handled all litigation filed against them, and he saved the railroad thousands of dollars."
"You don't sound very impressed."
"There were some personal accident and injury cases where the railroad was clearly negligent and there should have been awards to some very desperate and deserving people."